


Churyc jora bah churyc

by TexasDreamer01



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alpha Gets A Hug, Established Relationship, Jedi Culture, M/M, Male-Female Friendship, Mandalorian, Mando'a, Obi-Wan Kenobi Gets a Hug, Romance, That is definitely how the Force works, That's Not How The Force Works, Worldbuilding, clone culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 12:19:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16723281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TexasDreamer01/pseuds/TexasDreamer01
Summary: If you stare into the abyss, well... sometimes it did stare back. He was alright with that.





	Churyc jora bah churyc

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Gabriel4Sam](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gabriel4Sam/gifts).



> _Abyssus abyssum invocat_ , or “deep calleth unto deep” (some translations have "sea calls to sea") - from [Psalms 42:7](https://en.wikisource.org/wiki/Bible_\(King_James\)):
>
>> Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy waterspouts: all thy waves and thy billows are gone over me.
> 
>   
> The Mando'a has both hovertext and translations at the bottom.
> 
> Many thanks to Pitoya and Doomberrycupcake for the help - I wouldn't have been able to do this without you!

The seamless background of white and off-white was… boring. Comforting, for its connotations of familiarity and home, but with Alpha’s experience of the world outside of Kamino, very, very _boring_. Paperwork was a monotonous drone interspersed by training the clones in his program.

He frowned at the datapad in his hands, scrolling through the long list of numbers that were test results. General Ti was frequent and habitual in her requests for his perusals, citing his expertise in training his peers to “exceptional standards”. Huffing at the long range accuracy averages, Alpha annotated a few of the outliers and sent the entire file to an automated reminder for later; there were some aberrations in a few clones’ test scores that merited deeper investigation.

Exchanging that pad for his daily one – and idly stacking the report on top of the perpetually tall pile of identical others – Alpha scrolled through his list of engagements for the day. There was the usual thrice-daily training sessions with varying ages of clones, down from the initial four that his ARC trooper program was outlined for, and several written assignments due in regular intervals according to the variety of lessons they were attached to. Though his grimace at grading essays was the customary one that he shared with all of the trainers stationed on Kamino, he could admit that it was a blind spot in the ARC troopers’ education that was neatly remedied through the rigorous examination of materials Kenobi had glibly delivered one day.

Diplomacy was not his strong suit, the Jedi had idly reminded, though it was tremendously helpful to the generals if their commanders were trained well enough to at least stop glaring at the few Separatists who chose to negotiate. Alpha snorted at the memory, and its subsequent strategizing of topics that Kenobi _and_ Ti had agreed were of tactical importance in the new rounds of commanders, the conniving bastards. He was fairly certain Ti was still smug over sharing the _joy_ that was educating the next generation, and swiped a couple datapads from his desk along with his lukewarm cup of caf to dump onto her desk en route to the training room.

Mood suitably refreshed, Alpha continued categorizing the day’s events, wondering if it was too soon to assign the ARC candidates another round of peer-review so there was enough time to knuckle down on the problem class. They did well on the curricula the generals suggested, and mixed on the combat section of their training. Their scores were _average_ for regular troopers when it came to distance skills, but above and even excellent at close range and hand-to-hand. While the GAR wasn’t quite hemorrhaging commanders, a few section armies had more urgent replenishment needs than others. Churning over possible placements and how to alter the personal training of the problem and other classes, Alpha rounded into the hallway that was Ti and other Jedi’s offices.

The incessant pissing of rain wasn’t quite so obvious this deep into the base’s interior, but a scan of the Togruta’s montrals sufficed for a meteorological report – the minute twitches, accompanied by furrowed brows and tense hands, told him that Kamino was advancing into its winter season, fist-sized balls of hail pinging harmlessly off the exterior at a rate of, oh, frustrate-a-Jedi per second. Knocking back the last of his caffeinated sludge, he grinned a hello and set the mug down with a metallic tink.

Ti narrowed her eyes at him, flicking a suspicious glance at the pads in his hand, “Are either one of those the report I sent you this morning?”

“Not a chance,” He replied, professional enough to keep his face bland instead of rolling his own eyes. Both pads were set rather pointedly side-by-side on her desk, precariously close to the Jedi’s own preference of morning poison. The glance was becoming a squint as she eyed the innocent pads the way one would a rancor, and Alpha had to suppress a smirk as their daily negotiations for workload shuffling began, “ _These_ are the completed midterm exams for the Crisis Negotiation and Diplomatic Envoy Collaboration courses.”

She gave him a sour look as she pointedly moved her thermos away. Not like there was anywhere for her to put it, covered as the table was with a nauseating variety of administrative minutiae, but he tacitly admitted it was a game maneuver while Ti resigned herself to swaddling her hands around it. Her skin seeped into a deeper pink, and Alpha waited patiently while she took a bracing sip. Those extra ten minutes of uninterrupted ( _hopefully_ uninterrupted) lunch time were going to be his today, if he had to trade down to the question. A cold Jedi was a cranky Jedi, he had learned, and there were enough irritations a mere hour into their day that he wasn’t keen on sacrificing his goodwill for a leisurely lunch.

Even if they were getting in a new shipment of real bantha meat from Alderaan today, complete with all the seasonings.

“One of them has short answers,” Alpha offered, settling into a crisp parade rest.

The general frowned at the pads, as if she could discern its contents with enough willpower. Alpha might have been more impressed if he hadn’t verified that Jedi can’t, actually, do that.

Eventually, Ti sighed. “Crisis Negotiation has the essays, doesn’t it.” The question was resigned and rhetorical, so he simply nodded, sharing a rueful look with the Togruta as they remembered Kenobi valiantly arguing in favour of how necessary it was to see a student’s thoughts fully develop in long answer form, as a mere multiple choice or short answer couldn’t give a student the opportunity to ruminate upon their thoughts and plan ahead. Hindsight would have been incredibly useful, knowing now that Kenobi was definitively the opposite of the ideas he so vehemently espoused. The general’s sigh was even deeper at the knowledge that this was all Kenobi’s fault, for all that she quickly regrouped with a stern finger pointed at Alpha, “I want the report on those test scores by noon.”

His salute was ironically stoic, “Yes, sir.”

Ti wagged her finger at him, “And a reserved plate for lunch. Rare steak, heavy on the sauce.”

Alpha smirked, stretching it into a grin when Ti relented with an amused smile of her own, “Yes, sir.”

The repetition earned him a scowl, the general shooing him out of her office. He picked up his caf mug, not wanting to tempt fate any further, and strode out of the Jedi’s workroom. If he timed today’s drills right, the officer’s mess hall would be deserted for the precious few minutes it would take for him to grab a couple plates of lunch unimpeded and be back in his office with nobody the wiser. Alpha rapped his knuckles against his holster, anyway. Just in case.

With his time considerably freed up by handing off those midterms to the Jedi, his thoughts drifted toward another. Though his datapad was intended to aid him in managing his training curriculum, meant only for the internal network supplied for the clones and Jedi on Kamino, Alpha had immediately capitalized on the opportunity to add in various features – if anyone asked, to “increase productivity by utilizing creative methods to efficiently assimilate information from the Jedi High Council and GAR High Command on a per-command basis”. He had quickly learned that Kenobi's verbal footwork was eloquent and sufficiently confounding to the unsuspecting, a tactic necessary to win any battles against the cloners to carve out a modicum of freedom in this waterlogged, sterile white cage.

Personally, Alpha was content to say the hell with the entire war campaign and raze the base to the ground, with or without the mass-produced, non-Alpha class clones. On reliable cue, Kenobi’s disappointed look – the one with pursed lips and nonchalant coolness reserved for those the Jedi believed he overestimated the intelligence of – flickered across his mind’s eye; he grunted, pushing the train of thought away as he re-entered his quarters, depositing the empty mug into the sink. He understood how many of the Jedi were instinctively so fond of the more common class of clones. They were unintentionally endearing, he supposed from a detached perspective, with the engineering to be more obedient, more prone to unquestioning and fervent loyalty to the Republic.

Their youth and relative inexperience about the rest of the galaxy only added to the bright-eyed wonder and almost worshipful attitudes toward their generals. Jango Fett had demanded a more calculating, canny mind of Alpha’s class. Loyalty, yes, that ran deep and true and unwavering in all clones. But for him and his peers, an edge that would ruthlessly cut to the truth of the matter, to demand in reciprocation that same core of strength from the Republic, the Jedi – any one and any thing that demanded allegiance of them.

Such was the way of the _Mando_. Those with _mandokar_ had a fire that didn’t go out, which sparked the same enthusiasm for life in others. It was a highly prized trait, and one that Fett had instilled in them as soon as possible.

It was only under close contact with the generals that Alpha realized that many of them shared the same spirit, the Jedi _manda_ a roaring bonfire carefully tended so others may partake of their souls without being burned by it. That prioritization of defense was perceived by outsiders as meekness, weakness – something less-than because the strikes of their blade were often a last resort instead of the primary solution. As if their drive for justice was not as lethal against enemies as the touch of their sabers.

Double-checking that his accoutrements for the next class were in place, he set out for the first class on his schedule. The armed mêlée class was part of the combat training for upper-level candidates, and sometimes drew previous graduates of the program as well as whatever High General had free time between their own duties on Kamino – people rarely wanted to observe classes that revolved around analyzing texts, even if he admitted that they were equally as important as the more hands-on methods for battle.

Alpha was glad of the connecting hallways to the ARC trooper training section that kept it separate from the more public areas, for how it allowed his mind to wander to what had swiftly become one of his favourite topics.

Obi-Wan Kenobi was by many accounts the _perfect_ Jedi. By others, once Alpha was able to more closely integrate with the generals, he was mischief incarnate with ethics that bordered on the heretical. If anyone thought to ask him, neither opinion was the full story – a puzzle made with complementary pieces, with many missing but none absent on casual observation.

And if it was one thing Alpha prided himself on, it was thorough observation. A perfect Jedi Obi-Wan may or may not be, but as far as generals went he _was_ damn near perfect. Maybe a little soft on the shinies – hell, on everyone who was under his command – but a sharper mind for war was scarcely found outside the _Mando_. He knew the outright reverence the man’s demeanour cultivated, the way he could strategize a campaign down to the ammo pack and yet find time to share the last pinch of tea with a nervous shiny whose paint had scarcely dried.

Their conversations… many an hour had been whittled away discussing the merits of a DC-15S versus a DC-17, or the history of whatever such thing Alpha commented on. Obi-Wan made for a good teacher, Alpha admitted easily, as he turned into the hallway for the combat classes. With a rumbling voice that settled into smooth waves, Coruscanti accent giving his words an affable polish, the time passed easily and the topics gained an attractive appeal whenever it was him speaking of them.

Hearing the _sshk_ of the classroom’s door opening, Alpha disengaged from those thoughts, putting them back in the Jedi-shaped container they resided in. Many of the troopers were already doing warm-ups, some congregated in groups, datapads the center of attention. He guessed that the pads were showing anything from assignments to the lunch menu, regardless of the early hour. It was good initiative, and so Alpha dismissed the observation, giving his own pad a last check before setting it in the designated instructor’s locker.

Though it wasn’t quite the official starting time, early starts were a productive habit – he clapped his hands together, the noise cutting through the idle chatter.

“Ke' _sush_!”

* * *

The first class passed smoothly, a tone that was set for the rest of the morning. Alpha had been pleased to find solutions to several of the problem troopers, correcting oversights as they revealed themselves to him, and even managed to knock a few of the written assignments out in the few reprieves troopers busy with their classwork afforded him.

Stray memories and musings interrupted the train of his thoughts several times. It seemed that today was going to be spent with those particular ghosts of Obi-Wan today, no matter how well Alpha tried compartmentalizing him – a particularly distracting low point had been dictating the day’s notes for the Defensive Strategies class, something written up during a holocall with him during a lull en route from one battle to another. The words which were almost verbatim from that conversation, despite the poor signal, had been coloured with Alpha’s recollection of the general’s candid exhaustion that couldn’t be disguised as polite affront at the unusual hour.

His students had taken note of the departure from his usual tone, the particular flavour of sternness carrying a deeper note of some intense, more ambiguous emotion. Alpha thought that the diligent note-taking was likely a good indicator that they would take sombriety in the field seriously, choosing to focus on that instead of the hushed recollection of names and numbers added on to the 212th’s running casualty list.

_Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la._

It was difficult to fight the battles that could not be won with a blaster – even more so when the battle couldn’t be won, merely survived. Alpha didn’t like those, but learning about those bleak scenarios under Jango’s training and seeing them in action by Obi-Wan’s side and word, made him realize that such lessons were more reliable than any blaster. As Obi-Wan had quoted to him while discussing the details for many of these classes, a well-tempered mind is one’s greatest weapon.

Obi-Wan’s own mind was the greatest example Alpha couldn’t use. A tactician’s mind, of a sturdy _beskar_ that only became sharper when exposed to fire, able to slip between the cracks and find the smallest vulnerabilities.

The knowledge that he, like the clones, had been crafted into a weapon at the Republic’s behest made bitter the hard-won revelations that Obi-Wan frequently chose to comfort those vulnerabilities – to address those wounds and make them a point of strength instead of exploitation. There was always an edge to him, something personal about his decision to upend expectations. The Jedi called it nobility, the clones foolhardiness.

Alpha knew it better as the drive to avoid repetition. So that others knew their own value, knew that their morals shaped them deeply, and knew that someone would nurture them instead of rending them to pieces to better fit a particular shape. A sword used as a shield, so it would never need to spill blood. In essence, the perfect Jedi _manda_ ; a knight who fought in all aspects for peace and growth.

Such an existence was a double-edged sword, one that couldn’t help but slice into its wielder with each strike. The stories, interspersed between reports or in lengthy, infrequent sprawls of thought in glowing letters during odd hours, made Alpha worry at the faint ache in his chest. Obi-Wan regarded it as the price a Jedi paid, a suffering born of the norm, and carried the weight of it with thankless grace. Such a demeanour carried over to his men, to Alpha himself, the straightness of their backs and the confidence in their posture speaking of something greater than _ramikadyc_ – as if the Force itself were whispering boons in their ears.

It made for a terrifying combination to their enemies, a ruthless efficiency tempered only by relentless compassion. The holonews made certain to highlight the balance between both despite the overall worsening trends of the GAR’s publicity – the 212th having reached an almost mythic status that their arrival was an omen unto itself.

He would have wandered down those memories further, were it not for a tickle in the back of his brain. Alpha frowned, resisting the urge to ward off the sensation by scratching his head. Using the sensation as a guide, he turned in its direction. Ti had just entered the main hallway, her smirk filled with more teeth than were strictly mischievous for her species.

Sufficiently brought back to the present, he met the general’s gaze, a brow cocked silently in reply. It wasn’t yet noon, for all that the morning’s classes were nearly completed. Alpha personally thought that there were a few too many teeth for outside the sparring mat, something that was pushed to the forefront of his mind enough to make Ti’s expression widen into a grin. It bordered on salacious, instead, which made a few of the younger clones stumble as they passed by.

Ti was gracious enough to wait until the troopers passed, moving across the corridor the way a creek meandered past smoothed stones. The tranquil sway and rustling of skirts was enough to ring several of Alpha’s alarms, and he gave her a suspicious frown.

Her expression stilled into something more meditative, drawing Alpha to attention as she settled within arm’s reach to a stop. For a moment, he wondered if the latent strain of the day was writ across his face, Jedi mystère skimming the surface of what had transpired since their last meeting early in the morning. He waited patiently, shoulders melting into a casual set as the Togruta’s umber eyes searched for answers to questions he couldn’t fathom.

“I received a message from Master Koon,” The general said, “The 212th have been instructed to return to Kamino for a resupply.”

Alpha’s mind darted to Obi-Wan, the carefully noncommittal tone of Ti’s shuffling forward memories of the battalion’s recent battles and other assignments. A periodic rotation between the armies to Kamino was expected – for new troopers, the dropping off of injured ones, and the closest thing the clones would get to planetside leave – but the 212th had theirs barely two months ago, with the Third Systems Army having petered off to make way for the Fourth’s turn at hobbling back home to Kamino. It was… _unusual_ for an entire battalion to be called back to the main base outside of general schedule, unless absolutely necessary.

He leveled a stare at the Jedi, a silent request for more information. Ordinarily surprise visits from the 212th were a matter of intense gossip between them, news from the front and their mutual friend – Ti more prone to a sense of humor about Kenobi that was wicked in its understatement – a hotly-traded commodity, but now it made Alpha assume there were more factors involved in this complicated calculation of GAR rumors.

The answer was almost what he expected. “Casualties were low, but many pieces of equipment were damaged during their battle.”

 _Low_ meant little; it could mean half a company, or a squad, depending on the mission. It could also mean single digit losses – where the loss of a general mattered more than an entire corp. It wasn’t verbiage Alpha liked, too vague, too euphemistic where direct callousness would serve better. He harrumphed, “And when is their ETA?”

Ti tilted her head, “They’ve made stops along the way to aid the rest of the sector as needed, but should arrive by this evening. Master Koon sent a holo-message while I was teaching the cadets.”

“So we don’t know when they’re coming in.” He surmised. The general sighed, confirming his suspicions that the 212th might need to suffer an indefinitely-delayed resupply. Alpha brought up his datapad, tapping it awake and checking the time – one more class to go until lunch, and office hours after that. Enough time to double-check the incoming arrivals schedule between food, work, and students inevitably lining up to ask about their assignments.

He nodded his thanks for the advance notice, regardless. That General Koon thought to update them both in what was probably his usual status update indicated something more serious than Ti’s demureness.

It could wait, though. It had to wait.

* * *

Be it the Force or his own tightly-tuned nerves, the time ticked slower and slower. Alpha adjusted for it by setting a more grueling pace than usual in the field training, taking advantage of the regular clones’ previous cold-weather training session in the environmental training theatre to, ostensibly, test how well the ARC students could adapt what they’ve learned. While the Kaminoans trained all clones from the outset to use their Jedi generals as a shield, the ARC program was the inverse – keep your Jedi alive, coordinate mission planning, and try not to die while doing the former.

They performed admirably. As had become the norm during the war, there weren’t enough Jedi to go around, so Alpha had taken up the training ’saber Obi-Wan had left for his own use outside their private lessons and filled in the empty spot of a generic general. He had cycled through the various stock forms on gratified whim, the pointed twirl of Makashi melding into Soresu’s bolt-deflecting guard to cut a path to the objective point in a tempo not quite like the preternatural bearing of the average Jedi, a remnant of the extensive arms and reconnaissance training that Jango had drilled into his class of clones that was cannily economical.

Obi-Wan had once commented that the Mandalorian style was complementary to the Jedi’s, and as the swaths of dummy droids fell to his _veshok_ -coloured blade, Alpha could see where they clashed, where they could cover each other’s failings. Perhaps the ARCs still wouldn’t know what to expect from their generals when they returned to the field, but be damned if he didn’t try to find that common ground where better solutions could be found.

Refreshed from the suitable distraction, Alpha made double-time to the mess hall dedicated to the ARC training section. The scent of _hetikleyc_ steak wafted ever closer as he neared his destination, making his nose flare from the burn and mouth water in anticipation. There were already people there, clones at the front of the kitchen serving steaming plates of food. He picked up a tray and joined the queue.

The lunch looked nearly as good as it smelled, steak and sauce alike a deep red indicative of the powdered peppers that were a staple seasoning in Alderaanian cuisine. Gesturing for two plates’ worth with extra sauce for both, Alpha eyed the hot greens that were dutifully being piled on everyone’s plates for the sake of nutrition. They could probably be rendered palatable mixed with the sauce, but he was loathe to temper the bitterness that usually came with the vegetables, something its broth couldn’t always cover.

He thanked the clone that handed him his tray back, exiting the mess quickly in the hopes of retaining some warmth in his and Ti’s meal. Lunch proper was approaching, and he had to navigate the hungry hordes of other troopers being released for their midday meal, keeping to the side of the hallway that held his exit. It was a relief to duck into the side hall that held the administrative offices, the relative silence to the general’s office enough to hear the faint echo of his boots on the polished tile.

Ti wasn’t there, but he nudged a few datapads aside to clear enough space for her plate. The bowl of greens that had been assigned to her remained with him, and Alpha resigned himself to the extra helping.

Meals were taken in his own suite whenever possible; the walk there was even more deserted than the offices, something that made the now-tepid meal more appealing. He left the food in the kitchenette’s absurdly small counter, intent on sparing a few minutes in the fresher’s shower to wash off the grime from training. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, prompting Alpha to withdraw his blaster, saber weighing heavily on his belt.

The amenities of his suite were no guarantee of space, an advantage in that there were few places to hide. He swept the main room out of habit, steps furtive to the bedroom door. Sidling up next to it, out of view, he pressed the button to open it.

Alpha didn’t hear the sliding of the door, too intent on parsing the dubious lack of sound for persons or droids. With the low light, the scene presented didn’t register immediately, only the vague scent of rain and sodden, familiar wool. Guard relaxing enough to switch on the lights, the revealed sight of a Jedi in his bed startled a soft curse out of him.

He holstered his blaster, disgruntled at how the unease sinking into his skin abated with the stirring of this new occupant.

“Obi-Wan.”

A haggard face greeted him, more to the bruise-coloured bags than the squinting of _dral’kebii’tra_ eyes in the abrupt light. Alpha didn’t get a verbal response, his only gauge the fluctuating – and now foreign – feeling of intractable disquiet lurking in his senses. He opted for the casual, “You’re home early.”

The trickle of tightly-threaded emotions pushing up against his own was its own reply. He kept his steps light, parsing the pain limning the other’s exhaustion and glumness. Obi-Wan’s unresponsiveness wasn’t unusual when returning from long campaigns, nor was the reliance on their carefully established and subtle bond in the Force to push faint impressions instead of conversation.

Alpha settled on the edge of the bed, fingers finding tawny hair and brushing aside the drying locks from the man’s forehead. A sigh gusted against his cuisse, the tense lines of stress unwinding from Obi-Wan’s shoulders as aimless sigils were traced onto his scalp. Quiet resumed in the interluding moment, peacefulness seeping into the crevices wrought by whatever recent events had strained the ever-present fissures of the Jedi’s façade.

“We have Alderaani steak for lunch,” He said, increasing the pressure of his idle massage down the back of Obi-Wan’s neck to rouse him, “Have you eaten?”

“Mmm,” Obi-Wan shifted into the touch, a hand curling above Alpha’s knee with a light squeeze as he stretched, “With the green stew?”

He huffed, “With the green stew. Two servings, too.”

Obi-Wan gave him a quizzical look as he sat up, sliding a knee over his own to press close for a kiss. The chill of his lips made Alpha hold him closer, hands spanning down his back to coax him into sitting. They stayed chaste, segueing from one kiss into another, relaxing into the familiar grooves.

Deciding that the perpetual frigidity of his _jetii_ had ebbed into a temperature more fitting for mortals, Alpha leaned back, just enough to nudge his nose against the other’s. “You should change,” He said, not yet bother to open his eyes, enjoying the feeling of nails scratching lazily against through his hair, “The usual tea?”

A kiss was smudged onto his forehead, “Please.”

They disentangled, helping each other out of the bed. While Obi-Wan stayed in the room long enough to shuck off his boots near the bed, Alpha went to the other half of the suite, pulling cutlery out of the lone drawer before beginning enough tea for the both of them. The smoky, bitter blend favoured by Obi-Wan had grown on him, something that was cleansing to both palate and mind. Preparing it brought years of memories to the fore, the quiet revision of wounds, the retreading of their pasts until it settled into the future with a smile and twining of fingers.

He could hear the hiss of the fresher’s shower, and checked their lunch. Slightly less than tepid, but edible – unnecessary to reheat unless asked. Obi-Wan’s tea was fickle, steeping and cooling quickly if left unattended, so the food was left untampered, Alpha preferring a warm pot of tea to whittle away the hours.

It took little time to move the tea to a pot, the _beskar_ a deep teal and etched with swirling lines reminiscent of turbulent waters, a combination that was incongruously soothing. Steam rose in voluminous plumes, visible in the cool air as it brushed past Alpha’s cheek. Tranquility waxed, hands sliding around his waist in gentle announcement, and he set the lid on the pot.

“Hello there,” Alpha said, turning round in the embrace. The rosy-cheeked face of his lover was a fine greeting, he thought, sliding his arms around Obi-Wan and pressing the man close, “Enjoy your shower?”

“Yes, very,” Obi-Wan replied. He squeezed him around the middle, a pleased sigh huffing out of him as Alpha returned the gesture, the pressure unspooling the last of the stress from his frame, “… You said something about two servings?”

Alpha forwent an immediate answer in favour of another kiss, dipping his head, firming his grip with a satisfied noise when he was met halfway. The heat of the shower clung to Obi-Wan, making the slide of their lips luxurious- _yaim'la_ , unhurried as his _jetii_ moaned, surrendering control in the tilting of his head and the clutching of Alpha’s armor. He had the fleeting thought of a plom flower, red petals unfurling in delicate layers when paid care and attention.

Trailing his hands over the rough wool, he clasped his hands over Obi-Wan’s, reluctantly uncurling them from where they had dug under his breastplate. Seeing the flushed, glazed look made their meal unappetizing, but Alpha reasoned that they would have enough time later. Tragedy seemed to always bring his general back into orbit, and the thought was sobering enough to subdue the blooming touch of lust in both of them.

“Alderaani steak,” He promised with a smooth smile, bringing one befreckled hand up to press a kiss to the man’s knuckles, “Got it with extra sauce, too.”

Obi-Wan grinned, eyes crinkling, “That sounds delicious.”

They sat in their respective chairs, a bowl of greens for each of them. Splitting the steak was surprisingly easy, the joint effort of both their forks tearing through the juicy meat making their mouths water with anticipation. Alpha chanced the first bite, sopping up a decadent dollop of sauce as Obi-Wan watched with glittering eyes – the heat was smooth, a warmth that was shyer than the _draluram_ favoured by Mandalorians, a sweet edge chased by the acridity of something resembling _behot_.

It was good, and better when Obi-Wan tucked in after him, evidently savouring each bite but with the efficiency of a _kyrbejoya_ habitually counting the minutes of a battle-lull.

The quiet was re-energizing. They emptied the teapot by inches, filling the room with its fragrance as the dregs of their meal were polished off. Alpha collected their plates, briefly resting a hand over Obi-Wan’s in passing. His pad dinged with an incoming message, drawing their attention, and he waved off Obi-Wan to get it himself.

“ _Me’vaar ti ori’vod?_ ”

He snorted, tapping out a reply to their general's commander. Behind him was the clatter of Obi-Wan getting up, the clink of ceramic on laminate table a prelude to the restrained steps that brought him to Alpha’s side. Tilting the screen so the other could see elicited a chuckle.

“‘ _Ru’epa bal ru’piruni_ ’?” He bumped a shoulder against Alpha’s arm, “ _Cuy ni jii bantha_?”

Alpha bumped him back, turning to pinch at Obi-Wan’s robes with a smirk, “ _Ret’ru’hoda ni_.”

The laugh he startled out of him was rich and deep, petering off into giggles when Obi-Wan hooked a hand ’round his elbow. It was catching, and Alpha turned, catching Obi-Wan when he stumbled at the movement. A smile stretched across his own face as he tipped his head down, their arms messily intertwined.

“ _Ner atin’la jetii_ ,” He murmured, feeling the heartbeat of Obi-Wan reverberate through his skin, “ _Ner cyar’ika_.”

Lips brushed against his own, chapped and lined in soft, bristly beard; a feeling Alpha could scarcely imagine had an equal. His mind and heart felt three sizes too big, too much for just his own body, and he shifted to better hold his _jetii_ in his arms. The ephemeral spot connecting both tugged, a swooping sensation in his stomach that was uniquely Obi-Wan’s doing sening a tingle through him, sparking the latent desire that had, truthfully, been smoldering since Obi-Wan first came home.

It was addictive – the innocuous barrier delineating their separate thoughts melding together, smoothing into gentle waves that echoed in the rocking of their bodies. Hands, such precious, deadly things, were picking at the edges of his armor, and Alpha obliged, caressing over them to disassemble the stark white shell this war demanded of him. Obi-Wan’s own was next, adding to the pile on their table, weathered marks of orange and red that testified to the scars he bore for the Republic, the Jedi, and sons of Fett alike.

A brief pause in the untucking of clothes, fingertips sneaking onto exposed swathes of skin, where they caught each other’s gazes. Obi-Wan cocked a brow, flicking his eyes to the bedroom door with a mischievous tilt to his reddened lips. He tugged pointedly on the loosened undertunic in answer, overtunic and tabards in shambles around his lover’s waist. A reflexive jump of hips was Alpha’s own response as his fingers drifted down Obi-Wan’s side, prompting a smug look as the other’s breath stuttered.

They stumbled to the bedroom, anyway, the presence of his _cyar’ika_ in the back of his mind more intimate than the words Alpha could have attempted. Obi-Wan tipped him into the bed with a feather-light push, his knees more than willing to crumple at the sight of gleaming _sho'cye_ eyes dilated to an abyss that called of home.

Such a look was incentive enough to completely rid Alpha of their clothes. Skin heated to a sweat, phantom hands reflected the touch of his _jetii_ ’s, multiplying the intensity that he rose to match.

Obi-Wan skimmed a hand from knee to hip, the pressure firm enough to draw his attention back to the intent, hungry expression of his lover. He pressed a thumb into the ridge of Alpha’s hip, deceptively delicate circles massaged into the spot. The hands that weren’t continued to flit across his skin, raising a trail of prickled skin wherever they went – Alpha groaned, eyes fluttering halfheartedly as he tried to meet Obi-Wan’s gaze.

“ _Ner roy’ika_ ,” The words were low, in that register that made his focus narrow to the eloquent lips forming them. Obi-Wan settled closer, thighs broaching his own, arching over him with arms forming a wall between Alpha and everything that didn’t matter right now. Would never matter, Alpha swore vehemently, pushing the thought outward as he cradled a hand at the base of Obi-Wan’s head – never without his _cyare jetii_.

The next kiss scorched, tongue flicking into his mouth and making his hands spasm from where they clutched at Obi-Wan. A full-bodied slide culminated into the bone-deep sensation of Alpha’s _jetii_ washing over him, effortlessly filling the crevices in his spirit he was barely cognizant of having. His mouth dropped open with a pant, and he dug his fingers into Obi-Wan’s scarred, sun-kissed skin, dragging him closer in wordless, bond-fuelled demand.

His limbs were deftly rearranged, wave after wave of affection, love, lust- he didn’t _know_ , didn’t care so long as it didn’t stop. “ _Cyar’ika_ ,” Alpha gasped into Obi-Wan’s neck, " _Tra'drala, ner yaim, ner Kar'akad_.”

It was mindless babble, plucked half from memory and half from _jetii’dral_ , their minds ringing in synchronicity. Obi-Wan rocked into him, one hand digging desperate grooves into his skin, the other flung out above him – Alpha’s mind twanged, hand feeling the echoed smack of bottle landing roughly in his _cyare_ ’s hand. Teeth bit roughly at his collarbone, drawing forth a moan, knees tightening around Obi-Wan’s battle-trimmed waist.

A haze settled over them, thoughts subconscious and flitting too quickly between them to be truly formed. There seemed to be barely any time at all between the first slick, insistent probe of Obi-Wan’s fingers to the smooth, plunging slide of hips that curved, snug, against him. Alpha palmed the edge of Obi-Wan’s jaw, curling his fingers into the other’s sweat-dampened beard with a content sigh. Time stilled, just for a moment, letting him enjoy the thrum of their heartbeats rebounding wherever they touched.

Obi-Wan was similarly struck, letting a hand glide from where he was clutching Alpha’s thigh close, tucking it under the wing of his shoulder. It made the slow arch away from Alpha all the more exquisite, his newly-unsecured leg falling loose, heel scraping against Obi-Wan’s thigh when he flexed at an equally-torturous pace back into Alpha.

“ _Gar'kar'tayli darasuum_ ,” Obi-Wan pressed the words into his skin, marking a wet trail from heart to carotid, Alpha’s heart aching at the words. His pulse began to thunder, a beat that his _jetii_ picked up, rucking Alpha tighter to him with a taut grind of his hips, “ _Ner Alpha_. _Naubriik or'dha,_ _ner manda_.”

Electricity arced in irregular, faint webs, _dral be’cyar’ika_ dancing between them, leaving Alpha seized for breath as every sense was rocketed into hypersensitivity. It became impossible to tell up from down, Alpha from Obi-Wan, the only constant the uneven, clamant thrust of one body into another. Someone clutched at a back – maybe both – someone’s toes curled, elbows slipped on sheets, hips snapped forward in a sweat-slicked, welcoming grasp.

The orgasm was almost a surprise, ricocheting from one to another in a feedback loop that eventually dwindled into dazed trembling. They panted, filtering back into Alpha and Obi-Wan in a slow trickle of dividing sensation, a withdrawal that left Alpha grimacing at the too-small sensation of his skin. He twined a leg around Obi-Wan’s, seeking the visceral connection of moments earlier, tamping down on the spasm his body wanted to make at the freshly-exercised muscles.

Such a pain was grounding; he relished the tangible reminders of Obi-Wan’s attention. It stirred his lover with a similar grimace, who pushed a hand against his stomach, withdrawing with a groan that he echoed. A rueful smile was directed at him from where Obi-Wan had decided to rest off to the side of his heart. Alpha curled his fingers loosely around the hand that remained on him, giving it a light squeeze when Obi-Wan turned his palm upwards.

Alpha drifted, the steady cycle of inhalations on his chest convincing him into a light doze. Far away, in the next room, something pinged and broke the peace. He sighed, running a palm over Obi-Wan’s arm, rousing the man with a lazy scratch of nails upon scalp. A grumble was the only answer, segueing into a gusty sigh as Obi-Wan stretched, fingers digging into his chest and legs sweeping over his own. It was luxurious, a casual gesture that spoke of _yaim’la_ , and Alpha smiled into the kiss that Obi-Wan greeted him with.

“ _Ner jetii_ ,” He said, “Welcome home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Now on [Dreamwidth](https://texasdreamer01.dreamwidth.org/1116.html)!
> 
> [Plom bloom](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Plom_bloom)  
> [Tipoca Complex image](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/File:ITW2_Tipoca_Complex.jpg) \- the Kaminoans advised clone troopers to march in double-file behind their commanding Jedi (and use their lightsaber as a shield).
> 
> Vocab (mostly) sourced from Mandoa.org:  
> \- _Churyc jora bah churyc_  
>  \- _jorar_ – (to) call, summon  
> \- _churyc_ – deep  
>  _bah_ – to (dative)  
>  _Mando_ – Mandalorian, adj or noun  
>  _mandokar_ – the *right stuff*, the epitome of Mando virtue – a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life  
>  _Ke'sush!_ \- "Attention!"  
>  _Nu kyr'adyc, shi taab'echaaj'la_ – "Not gone, merely marching far away." (Tribute to a dead comrade.)  
>  _beskar_ – Mandalorian iron  
>  _ramikadyc_ – commando state of mind – an attitude that he/ she can do anything, endure anything, and achieve the objective. A blend of complete confidence and extreme tenacity instilled in special forces during training. Can also be used informally to describe a determined, focused person.  
>  _veshok_ – large evergreen tree with a grain similar to Earth oak  
>  _hetikleyc_ – spicy, as in makes the sinuses burn (a sensation like eating horseradish or wasabi)  
>  _dral’kebii’tra_ – bright-blue sky, from  
> \- _dral_ – bright, glowing; strong, powerful  
> \- _kebii'tra_ – sky (daytime) lit. blue sky  
>  _jetii_ – Jedi  
>  _yaim'la_ – comfortable, familiar, sense of *at home*. Can also mean local to the speaker.  
>  _draluram_ – vivid – used only of food, to indicate strong, distinct flavour, lit. *bright mouth* - one of the four essentials of Mandalorian cooking  
>  _behot_ – herb used in beverages, mildly antiseptic and stimulating  
> \- _shig_ – beverage – any infusion of whatever's available, but usually a mildly stimulant herb with a citrus flavor called _behot_  
>  _kyrbejoya_ – battlefield hunter*  
> \- * Word from Doomberrycupcake  
> \- _kyrbej_ \- battlefield  
> \- _oya_ ; from  
> \- _beroya_ \- “bounty hunter”  
>  _Me’vaar ti ori’vod?_ \- “What’s new with big brother?”; from  
> \- _Me'vaar ti gar?_ \- "How are you?" (Lit: what’s new with you? Can also be used to ask a soldier for a sitrep. If a Mando asks you this, they expect an answer; it’s literal.. The response for "I’m fine thanks," is "Naas.", literally – nothing)  
> \- _ori’vod_ – big brother, older brother, special friend  
>  _Ru’epa bal ru’piruni_ \- “Fed and watered”  
> \- _ru_ – past tense formation  
> \- _epar_ – (to) eat  
> \- _bal_ – and  
> \- _pirunir_ – (to) water; from  
> = _pirunir sur'haaise_ \- “make their eyes water (slang for kill, injure or defeat)”  
>  _Cuy ni jii bantha?_ \- “Am I now a bantha?”  
> \- _ni cuy_ \- “I am”, from  
> = _cuyir_ – (to) be  
> \- _jii_ – now  
>  _Ret’ru’hoda ni_ \- “Could have fooled me.”  
> \- _ret', reta'_ – could  
> \- _ru_ – past tense formation  
> \- _hodar_ – (to) fool, deceive  
> \- _ni_ – I, me  
>  _Ner atin’la jetii_ – “My stubborn/enduring/tenacious Jedi”  
> \- _ner_ – my  
> \- _atin’la_ – stubborn, enduring, tenacious  
> \- _jetii_ – Jedi  
>  _Ner cyar’ika_ – “My darling”, “My sweetheart”  
> \- _ner_ – my  
> \- _cyar’ika_ – darling, sweetheart  
>  _sho'cye_ – ocean  
>  _Ner roy’ika_ – My hunter  
> \- _ner_ – my  
> \- _roy_ – hunt; from bounty hunter, _geroya_ \- game, play (literally nearly-hunt)  
> \- _ika_ – diminutive to form an endearment
> 
>  _cyare_ – beloved, loved, popular  
>  _jetii’dral_ – the Force  
>  _Gar'kar'tayli darasuum - “I hold you in my heart”_  
>  \- _kar'taylir darasuum_ \- (to) love; to hold in the heart  
> \- _gar _– you/your__  
>  _Naubriik or’dha_ \- “Ray of light in dark”  
> \- _naubriik – ray (of light, laser or sunshine)_  
>  \- _or – inside, in the middle of, among_  
>  \- _dha – dark_  
>  _Ner manda_ – “My _manda_ ”  
>  _dral be’cyar’ika – darling’s glow_  
>  \- _be_ – prefix indicating possession


End file.
